Truth. Justice. Minesweeper.

Monday, August 15, 2005

So I drove Greyghost to an intersection near some kind of diamond repository. His explanation was that, right now, Underhand needs lots of cash and he needs it quick, and therefore Alabaster would be there to rip off a bunch of diamonds. And therefore, if Greyghost could prevent the theft and nail Alabaster, Underhand would be double-screwed.

We got there right on time. Two guys were carrying locked handcuff cases into a big airlock-lookin' door at the diamond exchange, and three cars screeched to a halt near them. A bunch of masked guys jumped out (sensible, as there were all kinds of cameras around. Which is also why we had the car with the mirrored windows) and surrounded the diamond couriers.

Greyghost rolled out of the car and plunged into the scrum around the couriers. He threw them around for a few seconds, making his way to Alabaster, a looming slender figure in a three-piece suit on the other side of the crowd. Then the air turned red.

There was a guy standing next to our car, all of a sudden. Young guy, Goth makeup, baseball hat. He snapped his fingers and the engine died. He snapped them again and something invisible smashed into Greyghost and spun him out of the way.

Aw, hell, I thought. An ambush. Or maybe they were just well-prepared.

The guy went to snap his fingers again and I sprayed him with windshield wiper fluid. Well, he was standing in the perfect spot.

He turned toward me, incredulous, and for lack of anything better to do I squirted him again.

He snapped his fingers again and the car disappeared entirely. I landed on my butt in the street.

Meanwhile, Greyghost was recovering. He and Alabaster were trading punches, and the two couriers were making themselves scarce with their cases.

The snapmeister, whoever the hell he was, turned away from me. And now I had a quick decision to make. I could either attack this guy physically or let him catch Greyghost off-guard. Didn't like either option.

So I compromised. I ran up to him and pulled his hat down over his eyes. Then I booked.

I ducked into the nearest store. It was an antiquarian bookstore I had noticed as we were pulling up. 'J. Cabrera, Bookseller', I think. Anyway, I staggered to a stop in front of the counter, where J. Cabrera was talking to a customer in an easy chair. Cabrera looked up at me, and his eyes widened.

"Dennis?" he said. "You came in person? It must be serious."

It was Inkling.
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